


Upon His Pedestal

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was wondering if you have an extra.”</p><p>Grantaire rose one eyebrow. “An extra what?”</p><p>“Cigarette.” The word almost sounded laborious coming from his pink lips. Grantaire raised his other eyebrow in casual surprise, licking his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wall

**Author's Note:**

> In all honesty I had to write a short story for school and since I'm trash I wrote this and changed the names. Might add another chapter or more at some point if I ever figure out where I'd like to go with it.

It had been months since Grantaire attended the first Les Amis de l’ABC meeting. Months since he had first set eyes on the blond that introduced himself as Enjolras with a scowl stretched against his pink lips that caused him to stare and his jaw to grow slack.

He had tried his hardest to attend every meeting since then, not only because it gave him more time to spend with friends but to also have time to quietly gape at Enjolras as he spoke optimistic and naive. It gave him time to watch him reel on his heels to turn on him and argue back, watching the curly hair whip around, almost whipping him in the face a few times. It did once and the sting the ends of the soft curls delivered felt like a lovers caress. It took all he had to not blurt the phrase out as it came to his mind when Enjolras stopped in the middle of his argument to ask if he had hit him before jumping right back into it. He couldn’t take his hand away from his cheek for a solid minute, and the rest of the afternoon he found himself gracing his fingers over the area when he caught Enjolras’ eye.

It had been months since he found the blue eyed man on a pedestal in his mind, with light shining through his golden and red aura, how he had stepped onto it and stared him down as if he hadn’t known he did. Grantaire couldn’t fathom how he couldn’t have noticed, how he didn’t notice the way his face fell away in awe when his voice became authoritative, when he watched as he directed his friends to pull together a plan that had begun to fall apart and make it better single handedly. How could a person so perfect and angelic also be so oblivious.

Enjolras spoke constantly of how he is no better, how everyone in the group was as valuable as him and that he wasn’t their leader, just good at organizing. Grantaire had laughed the first time he said that. A loud, throaty laugh that lit the fire in Enjolras’ eyes each time it escaped him. They had argued again, and of course Grantaire’s point of view did not get through. They had to be stopped by Combeferre so they wouldn’t waste the entire meeting. Enjolras had left slightly more stiff and aggravated at the end, clutching his signature red coat with white knuckles and those pink lips in a line tighter than a tightrope.

Grantaire’s heart ached knowing that no matter how angry he got, the same beauty he saw the first day shone through ethereal. No one should be so radiant at all times, it wasn’t fair to the rest of the population. No one was worthy of him, the least of which Grantaire. It had been months since he knew Enjolras was unattainable and begrudgingly accepted it. He accepted his fate as a devoted worshiper, never to be truly seen in the eyes of his god. It was better than false hope.

It had been months since Grantaire and Enjolras first met. During a meeting after those months had passed he watched Enjolras as he always did. That night was less talk and more work, and Enjolras’ hair had been pulled out of his face so it wouldn’t fall onto the keyboard he worked laboriously over. He never knew why, but Enjolras always tied back his curls with a red ribbon. He would have teased him or questioned why he used a ribbon in place of a hair tie, but all of their conversations were limited to arguing about whatever was brought about during the meetings. Usually it was Grantaire attempting to call out Enjolras’ blind optimism, trying to open his eyes to the more attainable reality. He was always met with the fire he had fallen in love with the first day, and he would never grow tired of it.

Toward the end of the meeting, after watching Enjolras’ long fingers work the keyboard for hours, he excused himself to step outside for a smoke. He was met with a few nods but mostly ignored before stepping out with his bag and fishing the nearly done box out of his bag and his lighter out of his pocket. He made his way down the street a decent bit to sit on a wall, far enough away that he wouldn’t disturb the patrons of the café who took the seats outside.

He was only a few drags in when the rest of the group spilled out of the café saying their goodbyes and waving to each other, a few waving to him. He waved back but stayed seated, bringing the cigarette back up to his chapped lips. Enjolras was the last to step out, saying goodbye to his friends before searching for something in his bag. Grantaire watched him, not moving to bring attention to himself. He was found regardless when Enjolras looked up. He stared at Grantaire for a few moments, his mouth pulling into a line as it often did when such an action happened, before sighing and trudging toward him.

Grantaire’s heart nearly fell from his chest and into his stomach, his lungs emptying as if to fill the empty spot with his ribs.

“What can I do for you, Apollo?” He questioned as he came near, the sun bouncing off his blindingly beautiful hair. The query brought back that same tight-lipped expression Grantaire knew almost too well, along with an eye roll.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Enjolras replied, coming to a stop a few feet from Grantaire with a huff. He rolled the words he wanted to say in his mouth before letting them fall out. “I was wondering if you have an extra.”

Grantaire rose one eyebrow. “An extra what?”

“Cigarette.” The word almost sounded laborious coming from his pink lips. Grantaire raised his other eyebrow in casual surprise, licking his own.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Grantaire commented, reaching into his bag and pulling out the cigarette carton. “You don’t really seem the type. I do have a few left, though.” He flipped the top open and held it out for Enjolras, who took one gently with his long fingers. Enjolras let out another huff, presumably a slightly amused one, and half rolled his eyes.

“What, do I seem to be sanctimonious?” He replied, searching his pockets before sitting down next to Grantaire. “Do you have a light?” Grantaire nodded and pulled his lighter out again.

“Well, I can’t say you put on any other façade during the meetings, if it is one.” In his mind his god shifted, looking to be somehow lower on that podium. But Grantaire smirked and was met with a look from Enjolras.

His heart was beating faster than usual since he was close enough to touch the angel he usually admired from afar. Even just a slight movement of his knee to the left and their legs would be pressed together, a small touch that would drive him mad regardless. Enjolras leaned forward toward the lighter, the cigarette in his mouth, but Grantaire’s shaking hands failed to make it flick to life. Enjolras sighed and leaned back.

“It doesn’t matter. Come here.” He leaned toward Grantaire then, who began to lean back instinctively and because the man of his dreams was now close enough where he could almost smell the scent of shampoo he used. Enjolras gave him a small glare, stopping him in his tracks. He held his breath as his god pressed the end of his cigarette to his own, breathing in to light it before sitting back again, blowing the smoke away from Grantaire.

It took another long moment of watching Enjolras with the cigarette between his fingers and smoke escaping those lips before he could breath again. He didn’t break the silence though, only took another drag of his to hopefully ground his floating mind.

“Not many know I smoke, actually.” Enjolras offered to fill the silence, which Grantaire didn’t mind. His voice was like silk spilling from his lips. “I usually avoid doing it around other people. I suppose it’s a factor of guilt. I’ve tried to quit.” He pursed his lips slightly before taking another drag. “Never really worked.” He finished after the smoke had left his lungs.

Grantaire nodded, watching him. He let his eyes fall over the rest of his body as Enjolras watched the street. He didn’t have his signature coat with him today, his bag his only accessory. He wore a black turtleneck, a style he had never seen on him either. It clung to most parts of his body, going slightly loose as it moved towards his hips. The sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows.

“I would be lying if I said I’ve tried in the past. But then again, I haven’t tried to stop any of my other addictions.” Grantaire mused, a small forced smile attempting to cover as he referenced his known alcoholism. Enjolras only gave him a look, to others blank but Grantaire he knew there were thoughts reeling behind his eyes. He shook his head and took another drag.

Enjolras took a drag as well, turning his head toward the street again. “Why did you decide on the nickname ‘Apollo’ for me?” He questioned, and Grantaire was happy for the change of topic.

He smirked, crooked and sly, though it softened as he answered. “You shine like the sun, Enjolras.” He looked over to catch Enjolras rolling his eyes slightly and shaking his head.

“You’re too much of a poet, Grantaire.”

“Well, that is one of my professions, Apollo.”

Enjolras hummed and took another drag. “Yes, one of many from what I’ve heard.”

“You heard correctly.”

They sat in silence for a minute, watching the street and pedestrians that occasionally passed. Grantaire watched Enjolras out of the corner of his eye, watching the way his hair moved in the light. It reminded him of a meeting a few weeks back where Enjolras had sat in a sun spot. The entire table appeared brighter, the light bouncing off the curly, nearly untamable mess that glowed. And it did glow. Whenever Grantaire had glanced up that day he almost felt blinded. It glowed golden and beautiful, like a beacon for the group to follow. Not the leader his ass. Enjolras was the only one who could manage to lead them all and accomplish anything.

They didn’t talk much the rest of the time. A few comments here and there, but no real conversation. It ended with Enjolras stubbing out the butt of the cigarette on the wall, holding onto it presumably to throw it away instead of littering. They exchange a quick goodbye, Enjolras thanking Grantaire for the cigarette, before he’s walking away from him.

Grantaire watched Enjolras until he couldn’t see him anymore, his hair bouncing in the sun and his shirt absorbing it. His bag bounced against his hip, especially when he hurried across the street in a little half run, holding his hand up to the driver in thanks. Grantaire put out his over used cigarette (he should have put it out minutes ago) and sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

The god in his head seemed to be watching him closer now, his eyes somehow more at eye level though he still stood on the podium. When Grantaire turned his mind’s eye from him, he could swear he caught the sight of other colors mixing with the gold and red aura he was so used to.

He isn’t sure how he feels about it.


	2. The Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t some kind of elaborate prank, right? No one is paying you or some shit?” Grantaire asks, very obviously trying to joke but his eyes quickly giving him away. He does actually want to know.
> 
> “No.” Enjolras replies, quiet. “No, it’s just me.”
> 
> “Shit.” Is all Grantaire replies with, shaking his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that. I did end up writing another chapter.
> 
> I think I have in mind at least one or possibly two more chapters? Maybe three. We will see.

Enjolras doesn’t actually exactly… smoke.

He has urges to smoke. He blames a two things: his anxiety and the fact that he spent a lot of time at a neighbor's house in his very early childhood. They would smoke indoors and often in the same room as they were playing. (He actually developed some lung problems as a child that way and had to sleep with a humidifier in his room.) His reasoning is that when his anxiety acts up, smoking would be a release. And for some reason, his brain remembers nicotine from those days.

He tries to avoid it, fend it off as much as possible. He doesn’t want to, he knows it fucks over your health and he has at least enough self preservation to know it’s not something he wants to do. But when his anxiety is acting up, or he’s beginning to get too stressed, walking by a person smoking is appetising. Smelling the smoke coming off their lips is intoxicating. The want to ask if they have an extra engulfs him.

And he’s still kicking his own ass for giving in again.

He knows he’s able to keep his anxiety contained, that he can make it look like he’s functioning. Luckily he was able to push the meeting to be a more self contained one. He was able to focus completely on his computer and practically block everything else out, focus on controlling the burning of anxiety making his heart race and hands sweat and mind reel with thoughts that aren’t his own.

But he let it get to him, and he gave in again.

It doesn’t help, at all, that he’s fond of Grantaire. He’s fond of the glances he catches of him when Grantaire’s studying him and the quick aversion of eyes. He’s fond of the speculation that he could be drawing him when he notices that he isn’t really focusing on the meeting but his sketchbook, though still looking up occasionally. He’s fond of his beard, and the way his afro stick out from under the forest colored beanie he wears occasionally, the way the color of that beanie mixes with his dark hair and skin. Fond of how his hair looks pushed back with a headband, or pulled back into a puffy ponytail. Fond of his hands, large and rough but look as if they would be so, so soft and how they create such beautiful art. Fond of the way he doesn’t look fit but can easily win a boxing match and perform a dance number in the same night (Courf managed to convince Joly to give up some videos of both for Enjolras’ benefit). Fond of the way he looks after a boxing match (courtesy of Bahorel being an intagram fiend), possibly especially the way he looks toweling his face off with the shirt he had been wearing to box, revealing his hairy chest. Fond of his hairy belly that sometimes pokes out when he raises both arms when he’s horsing around with his friends.

He’s so very fond of him. And apparently, weak as well.

He had fought with himself mentally when he saw Grantaire smoking on the wall. He fought all the way until he actually asked for a cigarette, giving in again. But the way Grantaire looked while he smoked, relaxed as smoke escaped from his eternally chapped lips. He’s considered offering him a spare chapstick but that would be rude, wouldn’t it. And his anxiety was already high. And no one else had to know.

But then he also lied about smoking. He lied to Grantaire about why he asked for a smoke. Grantaire hadn’t even asked, he just panicked and made something up. They could have sat in silence, Enjolras could have left after he lit his cigarette on Grantaire’s. But how Grantaire smelled like smoke and his cologne when Enjolras had leaned in, how he fought to look up into Grantaire’s eyes because that would have been too intimate for the situation. Was the entire situation too intimate? Did telling a false lie make it more?

Enjolras is mostly certain Grantaire returns his feelings. It’s mostly from others telling him, Courf talking about how he catched Grantaire staring at him, Combeferre explaining he caught a glimpse of what looked like Enjolras on Grantaire’s sketching paper. And once told these things he did begin to recognize them. Catching Grantaire looking away quickly when he looks up. How he hides his sketchbook from especially him. Recognizing that the looks he gives him might be deeper.

But he is also recognizing that Grantaire has begun to look at him differently. It’s like he’s watching him closer, trying to figure something out. Enjolras wouldn’t lie if asked if it makes him squirm; it does. He isn’t sure if he likes it, he feels like he’s under scrutiny. Like Grantaire is trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. He knew he shouldn’t have let himself cave and ask for a cigarette, he should have known it would throw things through a loop.

And the aspect of Grantaire actually returning his feelings, and for something to come of it. It gives Enjolras mixed feelings. On one hand, he would be overjoyed. Over the moon. On the other, he knows he would have to decline. He knows he wouldn’t be able to date a smoker and continue to resist his urges to smoke. And it would be completely rude and uncalled for to ask Grantaire to stop smoking just so he could date him. He knows how hard quitting smoking can be, he watched his neighbor try to quit numerous times throughout his childhood. Plus, why would Grantaire do that for him? It’s definitely not worth it.

Thinking about it only makes him want another cigarette more.

And now they’re drunk at a party and neither of them had moved when Joly had called the group from the other room to come watch a video he and Bossuet had found.

They’re sitting at opposite ends of the same couch, Feuilly had been between them. Each shifting slightly, glancing at the other. Then Grantaire shifts so his elbows are on his knees and stares, studying him again. Enjolras shifts uncomfortably, looking back.

“What?” Enjolras asks, slightly indignant as he rubs his thumb along the outside of his beer bottle.

Grantaire pauses, watching him, making Enjolras want to squirm. “You never take a break.” He states finally, bringing his own bottle up to his lips.

Enjolras furrows his eyebrows. “I have no idea what you mean.” He returns.

Grantaire sighs, pursing his lips for a half a second. His beer hangs between his knees, both hands on the neck. “Cigarette break. I’ve never seen you take a cigarette break.” Enjolras’ heart picks up double time. “I’ve watched you sit in the same spot for literally five hours doing work and never once looked up like you needed to go do something. Numerous times.”

Enjolras swallows, unsure how to react. Grantaire had caught him in his lie. He just stares back for a moment before taking another sip of beer to try and wet his suddenly dry throat and tongue.

“And that’s counting before you asked me for a smoke. And your mood hasn’t seemed to change, so I’m inclined to think you haven’t done anything like try quitting recently.”

Enjolras is practically frozen, his body pulled into itself to make him seem smaller. Grantaire isn’t accusing him of anything, or asking any questions for that matter. Just stating observations. But now Enjolras realized why it feels like he’s been studying him instead of watching him since that meeting. He’s been picking him apart and picking apart the lie he told him.

“I-” Enjolras begins to speak, but is quickly cut off by the sound of Bossuet calling Grantaire into the other room to see the video, promising he needs to see it. Grantaire doesn’t move for a moment, still staring at Enjolras, before he gets up with a sigh and a slight shake of his head, heading into the other room.

Enjolras decides it’s time for some fresh air.

He decides the best place to disappear to is the roof outside the window of Combeferre’s room. It’s big enough that it could hold the entire party downstairs with a little bit of squishing, but it’s best for two or three people, one if they need some quiet time. He carefully crawls through Ferre’s window, practically muscle memory at this point, and sits to the left of it, bringing his knees to his chest.

He can still hear the party downstairs occasionally, laughter bubbling up through the house and roof. He sighs as he feels his phone buzz against his thigh. Combeferre asking where he is. He replies before turning it to silent and placing it beside him.

It’s probably another half hour of reflecting on his mistakes and how Grantaire must think lowly of him now before he hears some footsteps in the room behind him and the window slide up. He expects Combeferre to climb out to check on him, but instead Grantaire’s head and another beer peaks out, the latter being held out to him.

“Hey. Saw you finished yours downstairs, thought you might want another.” Grantaire explains. Enjolras is barely able to meet his eyes, taking the beer and mentally kicking himself for not being able to even bring himself to say thank you. He takes a sip. “Is it okay if I join you out here?” Grantaire asks, hovering between being inside and out. Enjolras nods.

Grantaire climbs out, muttering something about the window being too small for a large black man like himself to be able to do this, but he emerges onto the roof none-the-less. He settles down and sighs, his own beer in his hand. He turns to Enjolras and looks at him for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. Enjolras takes a very long sip of his beer. Grantaire sighs.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought that stuff up.” Grantaire starts. “It was rude. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, and it wasn’t fair for me to do that.” He sighs and looks down at his beer bottle. Enjolras looks over at him. They both take a sip. Enjolras isn’t sure what to reply with.

Grantaire shifts then, shoving a hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. He puts one between his lips before holding it out to Enjolras. “Do you want one?” He says around the one in his mouth. Enjolras stares at it for a long moment before shaking his head and looking away again. Grantaire watches him before pulling away, fishing in his pocket again for his lighter. It isn’t until Grantaire had lit his cigarette and taken his first drag that Enjolras spoke.

“You’re right, though.” He says, looking down at his beer bottle.

Grantaire looks over at him, confused. “What?”

“I’ve never taken a smoke break. And my mood hasn’t changed.” Enjolras explains, then sighs. “I lied to you when I told you I smoke. I mean… I do occasionally. Extremely occasionally. I think this has only been the third or fourth time I’ve caved. I get urges to and I try my best to not cave but my anxiety will get too high or I’ll be too stressed out and I will.”

Grantaire furrows his brow. “You didn’t seem that stressed at the meeting.”

Enjolras shrugs. “Anxiety. I’ve gotten good at hiding it.”

Grantaire is silent for a few moments. He’s hesitant when he speaks. “But I’ve seen you with much worse anxiety before. Like, you weren’t able to hide it.” He looks up at Enjolras, catching his eye. “Was it really that bad that day?”

Enjolras sighs. “... It wasn’t.” He purses his lips. “I mean, it wasn’t good. You just…” He pauses. “You make me weak.” He takes another sip of his beer before looking at Grantaire, who is looking at his own beer with a face of heartbreak.

“I’m sorry.” He replies in a quiet voice.

Enjolras panics. “I- No! That’s not what I meant. I promise. I’m just very fond of you.” The words slip out before he’s able to catch them and he’s left staring at Grantaire with his mouth slightly open.

Grantaire matches his expression. “Wait… What?” He replies after a few minutes.

Enjolras quickly realized there’s no going back, so he might as well bury the hatchet. “I’m… fond of you, Grantaire. Very much so.”

Grantaire takes a half a minute to process that, leaving Enjolras to awkwardly watch him. “Ok, wait.” He finally says. “Fond of me like ‘I don’t completely mind having this guy around’ or… uh…” He isn’t able to finish the thought.

Enjolras breaks a bittersweet smile. “No. Fond as in I spend a lot of time thinking about you and wishing I knew you better. And, um,” He pauses again, nervous to say the next bit. “Wishing we were closer. Much closer.”

Grantaire takes a few moments to process that as well. “Like friends, then?” He asks.

Enjolras lets out a laugh, humored at this ridiculous situation. “No, Grantaire, like a couple.” He manages out, then immediately diverts his eyes in embarrassment and takes another sip of his beer. He glances at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye to find him blatantly staring at him, very obviously have a hard time processing the entire situation. It takes Grantaire a minute before he sits back against the wall of his house, staring at the trees near them.

Enjolras swallows before taking another sip of his beer. Now he’s nervous. He’s put himself out there and Grantaire isn’t responding. Enjolras feels his heart try to pound its way out of his chest, wanting to free itself of this bullshit and jump off the roof so it doesn’t have to deal with Enjolras’ bullshit anymore.

Grantaire finally moves, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips. Enjolras watches it, reminded why he can’t be with him. Why he hadn’t confessed before.

“This isn’t some kind of elaborate prank, right? No one is paying you or some shit?” Grantaire asks, very obviously trying to joke but his eyes quickly giving him away. He does actually want to know.

“No.” Enjolras replies, quiet. “No, it’s just me.”

“Shit.” Is all Grantaire replies with, shaking his head.

Enjolras looks down at his knees before taking another sip of his beer. He clenches his jaw on and off, thinking. “Sorry.”

“What?” Grantaire replies, very obviously thrown off.

“No you- You seem to be taking it badly. I’m sorry I said anything.”

Grantaire gapes at him. “Oh. My god, no. No. I’m just having a hard time processing it. I mean you’re- Jesus Enjolras you’re you. Christ look at you. With your hair pulled up in a fucking bun and the top two buttons of your shirt undone- do you ever realize how attractive you are? I mean really. Like really actually look at yourself and realize that you outshine the rest of the world.”

Enjolras watches Grantaire with a tiny smile, half hopeful.

“Have you ever seen your hair in the sun? Oh my god it fucking gleams. I don’t know anyone else who has hair as shiny and blond as yours. And fucking perfect curls. And natural! Jesus christ there are people who pay more than I’ll ever make in my life to look like you. People pay thousands just to look like you for one day.”

Enjolras furrows his brow upwards. He so enamoured. He lets out a small laugh. “What, am I only good for my look?” He teases.

Grantaire whips his head around to face him. “Oh, Jesus no. Shit I totally didn’t mean it that way.” He earns another laugh from Enjolras. “No, I’m serious! You- You’re fiery. Jesus no you aren’t even that, you’re fire. You’re fire that burns anything you touch with a passion that makes other people notice what you want them to. No one can ignore you. Everything you do, everyone you come into contact with, gets completely engulfed by you. It’s like we can’t even see anything else, only you and what you do and what you care about. You make people care, Enjolras.”

Enjolras gives him a distrustful look. “Except you, apparently.”

Grantaire returns with a scoff. “I’m just an asshole who doesn’t believe anything can change. I’ve been tumbled too many times or some bullshit like that. But I believe in you. I believe in the fact that you can make people care. I’ve seen you do it, countless times. You lead them to glory or failure but the fact is you lead them and they believe in the cause you show and promote.” Grantaire shrugs and looks down at his own hands. “You’re really, really incredible, Enjolras.”

When Grantaire looks up Enjolras is looking back as if he were made of stars. Grantaire’s face softens, almost sadly. Enjolras racks his mind for a moment for the right word. Bittersweet.

“You never really replied.” Enjolras says after a few moments, words falling softly.

Grantaire smiles, the same bittersweetness seeping through his teeth. “I’m still trying to process it. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Enjolras replies. He watches Grantaire bring the cigarette to his lips again and watches the smoke escape his lungs. Grantaire seems to catch his gaze, but Enjolras speaks first. “It… Might be better if you don’t.”

Grantaire’s brows immediately furrow. Enjolras notices his breath pick up. “What? Why?”  He leans towards Enjolras slightly, almost panicked.

“I… Fuck.” Enjolras turns away for a moment to rub a hand over his face. “I promised myself I wouldn’t date a smoker.” He can see Grantaire physically deflate. “I know that if I put myself in that situation, I would cave, and it would become a regular habit. I really don’t want to let myself do that.” He explains, looking away.

Grantaire is still for a few seconds before he’s stubbing out the butt of his cigarette on the roof and throwing it off. “Then I’m not a smoker anymore.”

Enjolras is completely thrown off. “... What?”

Grantaire angles his shoulders towards him. “If giving up smoking means I have even the glimpse of a chance to be with you, I would take down the cigarette industry by myself.”

Enjolras stares back at him, mouth hanging open slightly. He stutters for a few seconds before speaking. “I can’t ask you to do that, Grantaire. That’s ridiculous. And just quitting cold turkey is never a good idea.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “No. You aren’t asking me to. I want to. I’m doing this because I want to. Because I want to be with you. And I’ll quit however I want to, as long as I get to be with you.”

Enjolras takes a few more moments to process that information. “You want to be with me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Wow, the tables have really turned here, haven’t they.” Grantaire cracks a smile and Enjolras lets out an exasperated sigh, unable to stop a grin from forming.

“Shut up. God you’re such an asshole.” Enjolras smiles back at him, hesitating for a few moments before swallowing and speaking again. “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Jesus Christ. Please.”


End file.
